


Conversations

by SuccubusKayko



Series: On a Lark [10]
Category: FFXIV, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anger Management, Communication Failure, Conversations, Established Relationship, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Relationship Discussions, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko
Summary: A series of conversations between three idiots that love each other, but are bad at self care.OrEveryone has issues and need help to deal with them.Immediate follow up to Visits.





	1. Fall Out

**Author's Note:**

> This chaptered fic take placed immediately after the events of my previous fic 'Visits'.
> 
> This fic is heavily influenced and inspired by KivaEmber's fic 'Front Flip'. Please go and read it and let them know how wonderful they are~!
> 
> KivaEmber can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber  
> And Front Flip can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060988

Chapter 1: Fall Out

 

 

“I do not see what, exactly, is so funny about this situation,” Aymeric was frowning hard at them, his arms crossed over his chest and giving them his most imperial, icy cold stare. If it were not for the fact that they were both half-frozen already, they might have even shuddered. Aymeric had never looked at either of them so angrily.

 

Well, that maybe wasn't entirely true for Estinien. He had done a _lot_ of stupid things when they were teenagers. And though Aymeric appeared furious and ready to seethe, he could not – for the life of him – stop the smirks from forming on his lips and the sharp snorts of laughter from bubbling in his throat at the Warrior of Light every time she tried to apologize. Or maybe he was actually _happy_. He wasn't entirely sure.

 

Shirina, however, had never seen him this angry before, at least not at her. She tried to look remorseful, really she did, but maybe it was the alcohol. Or the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. Or the relief that they had somehow made it back to Ishgard in – more or less – one piece. Or maybe it was the argument and the insane, mind blowing rage sex that led to all this? She tried to apologize again, but could not catch her breath between the hysterical giggling and the tight, sharp pain in her chest every time she tried. The apology came out slurred and unintelligible and ended in a pathetic sounding wheeze that Estinien had to bite his lips from laughing at.

 

Yup, definitely a busted rib.

 

“Do you have any idea what kind of problems the two of you have caused me tonight,” Aymeric continued, trying very hard to keep from outright shouting at the two – what had he done in his life to deserve this kind of punishment – _Twelve's damned_ _ **beautiful**_ _idiots_ sitting in infirmary beds opposite each other. The chirurgeons had long since left, sensing the storm brewing as soon as the Lord Commander was reported to be _on his way_.

 

Estinien opened his mouth to comment and Aymeric sliced a hand through the air to silence him, voice low, dangerous, and almost hissing. Estinien swallowed visibly. He would have been impressed at Aymeric's impression of him if it were not so damned intimidating slipping from the Lord Commander's otherwise calm, handsome face. Was this what _he_ was like **all** the time?

 

“That was. a _rhetorical._ question.”

 

Estinien was reminded of the way Banshee hissed before she made to maul him. He shuddered.

 

“First,” Aymeric began, pulling a thick stack of heavy parchment from beneath his arm, shaking them accusatory at the two of them, “I receive reports that the two of you have been spotted in Camp Dragonhead, arguing and ATTACKING each other and looking like you've been mauled by a **PACK OF BEHEMOTHS**! That the two of you were _**discovered**_ -!” Aymeric stopped, cutting himself off short, realizing that he was screaming now by the way his voice bounced off the walls and the two were flinching at every word, especially Shirina. He imagined that her head must be pounding by now, the effects of a vicious hangover beginning to take effect. Good. She deserved it. But he still did not want the entirety of Foundation to hear what he had to say next. He marched to the end of Estinien's bed and hissed low, “That the two of you were discovered engaging in _public displays of carnal and indecent acts_! That you destroyed the armory at the camp and left no less than _**seven**_ House Fortemps and House Haillenarte knights scandalized, blubbering, or worse because **you** _threatened to castrate them_ if they interfered! Those men will spend _years_ in therapy for this and they will have to be **appropriately compensated** because it was _in the line of duty_.”

Estinien, despite the implications, seemed all too pleased with himself at that. He opened his mouth to interject and received a face full of parchment for his trouble. He looked down at them and realized that they were legal documents, reports, about himself and the Lady Warrior. He blushed.

 

“Then! **You** ,” he rounded on Estinien, eyes bright with fresh anger, “After you spend all of these last three months _reassuring me_ that you would not just leave on another _extended reprieve_ without saying anything, I find myself alone in bed this morning. Distraught and terrified and you have **Disappeared** _with nary a word. Or a_ _ **note**_. _Or a kiss goodbye._ I understand that I am being _paranoid_ , but can you blame me? How am I supposed to trust that you will not run off again? Hmm?”

 

Shirina blinked slowly at Aymeric as he spun around to focus his fury on her, “You **promised** me that you would not do this again! You of all people! You, who has no problem chastising me for how _**I**_ do not keep _**my**_ promises! You, who frets that I do not get enough sleep and constantly make excuses for why I should stay in bed and rest because _**I**_ am _**killing myself**_ with work? Then, you go off on one of your **benders** and do not return for two days _,_ leaving me to spend another _sleepless_ night worrying if I would find out that you had died of hypothermia or drinking yourself into an early grave because _**you**_ cannot be bothered to _**talk**_ to me – or any one for that matter – when you are upset and having a difficult time. I understand that you are grieving. I understand that you are not well. I understand that you are only _human_. But I cannot help you if you do not _**talk**_ to me!”

 

Shirina made a sad noise that sounded suspiciously like a poorly disguised gag and turned a rather unflattering shade of pale that he had never seen before. She breathed in through her nose and tried to keep her stomach from rebelling, eyes welling, face falling, and at a loss for words.

 

Aymeric turned away from them in disgust, scrubbing his hands through his dark curls and down his face in frustration. With back still turned, he heaved a great sigh, “If it were not for the respect and honor – though I hardly think it is due, at this point – that the two of you garnered for your deeds in the Dragonsong War and the liberation of Ala Mhigo and Doma, I do not believe that even _I_ would be able to keep the two of you from being hauled off to The Vault, never to be seen or heard from again.”

 

“Small blessings,” Estinien murmured, frowning even as he said it. He knew that it was the wrong thing to say when Aymeric took a sharp breath, stifling whatever bitter thing threatened to pass his lips, and turned tired eyes to the ceiling and offered up a solemn prayer to Halone to grant him _**strength**_ and _**patience**_. He could not bring himself to look up at the Lord Commander, eyes cast down at the thread bear blanket balled in his fists.

 

Shirina swallowed down a hallow breath, tears truly threatening to fall, “Aymeric, I-. . .”

 

“I _know_ ,” he whispered harshly, his breath escaping in a wet quaver. He took a few deep breaths before he continued, voice steadier, “But I do not wish to **hear** it. Right. Now.” He shook his head firmly and turned for the door, “I cannot even stand to **look** at the two of you.” He stopped in the doorway, voice hoarse and heavy with barely restrained emotion, “Rest, tomorrow we are going to _**talk**_ about this, but for now I have **work** to do.”

 

As the door clicked behind him, Estinien began to count backwards from one hundred.

 

Ninety three.

 

Shirina released a shaky breath.

 

Eighty six.

 

A sharp intake. She held it.

 

Eighty two.

 

A whimper.

 

Eighty. . . one. . .

 

A sob.

 

Eighty-

 

A strangled cry.

 

Estinien set his feet to the floor. His stitched up shoulder pulled as he pushed himself from the infirmary bed. Twinged as he gathered Shirina up into his arms. She curled her fingers tightly into the fabric of his tunic and buried her face against his chest. Her body wracked with sorrow and pain, her tears soaking his skin.

 

He could offer her little succor, but for his arms around her and his shoulder to cry on. He was no good at comfort. He was no good at emotions. He spoke nary a word. Too afraid that if he tried he would break down with her.

 

Estinien blinked back the tears in his eyes and swallowed down the sob that threatened to spill.

 

Estinien counted backwards from one thousand.

 


	2. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric takes time to think on the tentative relationship between Estinien and Shirina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very likely to change. I am not incredibly pleased with how it turn out, but for the life of me I cannot decide how to fix it. I will make a change to the notes of summary for this story should things change.

Chapter 2: Reprieve

 

“Lord Commander,” was a gently chided reminder.

 

Aymeric closed his eyes and rubbed his hands down his face for the hundredth time that morning. He had gotten no sleep at all and even less work done. It was not the first time and would certainly not be the last, “Yes, I know.”

 

The blond leveled her cool gaze on him, always calm and never pressing, but firm in her convictions. She stepped forward and, when he did not motion to stop her, gathered the papers before him, arranging them into a neat stack and stuffing them beneath her arm. Out of sight, out of mind.

 

“You should go speak with them.”

 

He took a deep breath. He knew that he should. He did. But, “I am still angry,” he admitted.

 

“Of course you are,” Lucia agreed as though it were an obvious thing.

 

“I do not want to be angry.”

 

“Of course not,” another obvious thing.

 

“I could have lost them,” he whispered, dropping his head into his hands.

 

“But you did not,” she affirmed. He was surprised when she continued, “Ser Estinien and Lady Shirina are both warriors, my lord. So long as there is cause for them to fight, their lives will always be in danger.”

 

“I am well aware,” he sighed, swallowing hard. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to ease the pressure of the headache that pounded behind them, “But it is the fact that they have done this to each other that has me worried.”

 

Lucia nodded once, though he could not see it, then offered, “Once, as they say, is a mistake, my lord. Perhaps they needed to duke it out to get passed their stupidity.” She breathed out a little curse, “Fury knows they've got egos the size of Eorzea.”

 

Twice a pattern, he knew. He should give them the benefit of the doubt. Though for Shirina it was common place to drown herself in drink when she felt the world on her shoulders, she had never actively harmed anyone on one of her benders. And Estinien was less than gentle with his words and actions, pushing her buttons – and his – on a regular basis. They were callous in the way that they spoke to each other, carelessly cursing and shouting and fighting like cats and dogs until they were being cruel and nearing to blows. But they never did. They were a volatile mix, he knew.

 

But they both were gentle, he knew, in their own ways.

 

Despite the venom they spat and the fire in their eyes, they could be kind to one another.

 

Shirina constantly nagging the dragoon that he did not eat enough and – hypocritically – that he drank too much. She would subtly slip him extra portions at dinner, when he wasn't paying attention. And whether she was there or on another continent, there was always a hot meal waiting for him at his place at the table.

 

She would complain that he was sweaty and stank when he returned from his watch, refusing him the comfort of their bed until he had bathed. When he protested over much, she would bodily shove him towards the hot bath, threatening to pick him up, throw him in, and drown him in it if he did not go on his own. She would goad him until he was hissing and spitting like Banshee, until she'd finally needled him into agreeing, if only to get her to leave him be. There was always a hot bath waiting when he came home and she would whisk away his clothing and refuse to give him fresh ones until he had cleaned – _relaxed_ – properly.

 

That particular course of action often backfired, however, as none of them had any real issue with nudity, and Estinien _in particular_ had no issue with dredging water through the house and scandalizing his staff.

 

Estinien, to his credit, often held his tongue when speaking to her. Even when they were shouting obscenities and hurling insults, he would visibly catch himself before spewing something particularly hateful. It had taken time for him to realize the things that set her from angry to miserable, but he had learned quickly enough.

 

And when she was miserable, woken in the night by some ghastly visage and thrashing about because she did not know where she was. When recognition did not immediately strike. He would curl around her like a snake so that she could not scratch and kick and bite and hurt herself or them until the terror faded and she either fell back to sleep or woke from her nightmare. Would hold her against his chest when she cried and apologized for being a mess, telling her that she was being stupid for blaming herself. Either calming or angering, but either was better than the screaming and the tears, he knew, for the dragoon.

 

How despite his seeming disdain for the woman's requests, he would run little errands for her, should she deign to ask him. Arguing and complaining all the while, but doing it all the same.

 

How when the three of them lay in their bed, he would wake to them softly murmuring to each other over him, talking about anything and everything – though mostly about himself or some monster they had fought, but sometimes about things they would like to do. Places they would like to see. Things they wanted to do to Aymeric when he awoke.

 

How when they made-love – or fucked – the two of them mirroring each other to his front and back, he would catch them twining their fingers together or curling into each others hair, or casting shy, tentative glances at each other over his shoulders.

 

Or how, sometimes, when they were both so at the ends of their ropes, either too angry or too upset and not knowing what to say or do with each other. Whether because of angst or frustration or sorrow, they would fall upon each other's lips, stealing each other's breath and bruising with teeth and tongue until they had to tear themselves apart before they burned out on each other.

 

It usually ended with them staying at opposite ends of the house for a day, but eventually they would settle back into their odd routine of pretending to hate each other.

 

And he knew that Estinien had fallen hard for their Lady Warrior when Aymeric told him that he wanted to marry her and Estinien agreed. Agreed that _**THEY**_ should marry her.

 

He could not deny that it was a pleasing idea, but he had no real way of knowing whether Shirina felt the same way for Estinien, not without asking.

 

Estinien had warned him against asking – springing it on her too soon, his insight into the woman's psyche surprising him until he'd explained that he understood crippling guilt and self-doubt. That he did not think it best to ask until she had time to make peace with some of her issues and get to know himself better.

 

And he had not listened. And now they were both in the infirmary.

 

He nodded solemnly to himself and croaked, “I know that it is foolish, but I love them terribly.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed, “Deeply and against your better judgment, I am sure. But they are just as much fools for you.” He could hear the subtle smile in her voice as she said, “Idiots for each other, though they seem to be the only ones that do not see it. Idiots the lot of you.”

 

“Yes,” Aymeric agreed, finally pushing himself to his feet, his little reverie easing the tension from his shoulders and tempering his ire enough that he felt that he could face them now. He offered Lucia a thankful, if not frazzled, smile, always appreciative of her well observed opinions, wisdom, and counsel, “Yes, you are quite right.”

 

Lucia tilted her head in acknowledgment, “I will bring you the annotations of this morning's meeting when you return, Lord Commander. Do take your time.”

 

“Thank you,” Aymeric murmured, making a mental note to invite his second in command for dinner and drinks should things work out for the better. Something to thank her for her patience, loyalty, and trust. He strode out of the Congregation and headed for the infirmary, weary and dreading the heavy conversation that was ahead of him, but thankful that his lovers were alive and well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may take a while to get done. I am having a very difficult time writing the kind of discussion I want them to have. Please be patient and let me know if you've enjoyed this so far. If you have any suggestions on how to fix this, please let me know in the comments?


End file.
